


Haha Bite Go Chomp

by pamphy



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Biting, Fighting, Implied Doomguy, Implied Hell Priests, Implied Seraphim aka Samuel Hayden aka dumbass robot, Marauder gets poisoned by a venomous bite, Sneaky man aha, Sorry I will do it soon just wait, The Marauder is so fuckin bored, damn 😔👊, i wrote this instead of doing chapter 11 of Story of Σ, me too marauder me too, please accept my cringe oc who is feral and smol, this is actually a fic to overcome my writers block
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:48:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pamphy/pseuds/pamphy
Summary: Marauder really do be bored out of his mind doe 😳👀😭😭😭😭🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰😎😎😎👉👉
Comments: 10
Kudos: 4





	Haha Bite Go Chomp

**Author's Note:**

> Pls don’t bully me I wrote this during school😭😭
> 
> this isn’t really a self insert, so please don’t be mean about it.

Since the rise of the DoomSlayer, and until his slumber, The Marauder had already succumbed to the hellish environments. He already changed to this… form, once he agreed to work with the demons. To think that the Slayer would be the reason he was like this makes it almost seem that the warrior was magnanimous. But, the Marauder would at least be glad there’s a good battle. Unfortunately, the Hell Priests locked him up in that sarcophagus, and soon after, The Seraphim had been mysteriously exiled from Urdak. Not even The Khan Makyr would speak of it.

To sum it up, he’s bored. The Marauder has nothing to do but just guard gateways and sulk in his own painful thoughts, as for the rest of the demons, they just fight all the time. For no apparent reason. He estimates that they are bored too. The former Night Sentinel no longer eats, or sleeps, let alone get tired. He has no need to. He wishes for something to happen. It could even be some random human, horrified, paralyzed by fear, and he’d be the one to cut open their jaws and watch the blood flow out, just to pass the time. All's well that ends well, he supposed.

The Marauder heard the chorus of the zombified human soldiers amongst the gateways of hell. Some had their shields up, ready for any kind of action. Ready for the Slayer to show up at any moment. Ready to die and go back to hell. Strange, he felt like he was ready to die as well. Was he- or were they- made to destroy him? The Marauder never questioned that in his life, even after the slayer’s victory when he killed that titan. Since then, that usurper was now a liability to him.

And then, a lift of an Imp’s head, a growl of a zombie, a pump of a shotgun. Something was coming. He mentally crosses his fingers that it was the Slayer, readying up his own axe and shield, waiting for the perfect moment. But nothing came. Only the sudden fight of the three demons in front of him. So it was all for nothing? A false alarm? Those three imbeciles just started fighting again, and he only has gotten himself riled up only for them to fight? How ridiculous. The chest of the demonized man rose up in anger, and he clenched the handle of his weapons. Silently shaking in anger as he felt his heart beat faster and faster, The Marauder stomped to the trio that were still fighting. Without a word, The Marauder sliced them all in half, with just a single swift of his axe and softly grunting in the process.

He found solace, extreme solace in killing those fools. The man with horns no longer felt angry. Nor annoyed. It was very quiet now, that was nice. It felt nice. Except for the constant heat in his post. Aside from that, the man was now alone. Only his inner voice kept him company. The Marauder then felt a sharp jolt from his left arm. It seemed like it came from nowhere. The pain suddenly overcame him in tiny amounts, but he didn’t back down. He never backed down. He only conquers until he is conquered. The horned individual clenched his arm, grabbing for the source of it, until he found a… a combat knife? How the hell would a combat knife be thrown straight into his arm? The Marauder mentally congratulated the person who made a melee weapon like that. 

So. There was someone here, it must have been the Slayer, but the trio of fools only distracted him by fighting. Why? They knew The Marauder would be able to fight the human. Unless, it wasn’t the Slayer. Only his imagination. He must be hallucinating. Could he even hallucinate?

His train of thought was ruined when he heard the sound of screams and gunshots from the other posts his comrades were assigned to. Walking over to the closed doors, the pools of blood seeping through the cracks and slowly staining his armored shoes. Another scream, and then it faded. Nothing came out of the door. There was just screaming. That was all. Whoever that person was, The Marauder knows that they’re looking for supplies. He needs to time this accordingly.

It’s him, The man thought, It has to be. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here. 

With no time to waste, The Marauder used his strong foot to kick down the door, which resulted by being kicked as well, straight to the face by someone unfamiliar. And then the intruder fell to the floor, but stood back up again like it was nothing. As for the kicked man, It was painful but it was a very good strategy conducted by his newfound enemy, he’ll give him that. It led him to be partially blind from the impact unfortunately. The Marauder covered his face, and the intruder growled as he attempted to lay a punch on the experienced warrior, only for the man to be thrown right into a wall, leaving the intruder dazed and out of breath. The intruder heaved, and the blurred vision of the Marauder slowly returned to normal as he saw the intruder. Armored in black and white, with hair as dark as a black hole, the only colors were his pale skin and the stains of blood on his face. He was short. Thin. He looked like he’d be eaten alive, but from that kick, that intruder now taught him that looks can be deceiving. 

It only took one glance, and The Marauder was starting to feel confused. Those eyes. Eyes that are white as snow. So white, not even the pupils show. Eyes that are like the eyes of the void. He only stares, and the void stares back. The Marauder knew this man. He’s heard tales of him before, but he always believed that he was just some myth, a fairy tale. But now, that myth is real, and for the first time The Marauder doesn’t know what to do. So this is what feeling lost feels like.

He remembers the tales well. He remembers his symbol. He remembers his bite. The bite that could kill any being. Even metallic ones. The Bite of The Crescent. He remembers the tale of how he was once the clone of an esteemed General, who found a purpose in defeating an army millions of years ago. The Crescent, his name, disappeared then. But now, why was he here? What happened to him? The Marauder raised his axe in response to his mental question.

The Crescent, growling in response, grabbed a large metal pole from the left of him, shakily stood up, and charged forward. Bolting towards the confused man, The Marauder quickly raises his shield and swifts his powerful axe in alarm, and the attacker dodges. The Crescent is very fast, much like him. Those white eyes glare at him angrily, his frowning constant and his grip on the pole bending. The Marauder is ready again, and now, he charges forward. Raising his axe to chop the smaller one in half, the Crescent dodges again, and hits him with the pole, however the pole breaks and he has no choice but to punch him. Annoyed, but impressed at his determination, the Marauder grabs him by the neck in a standstill. He isn’t really choking him though. The Crescent gasps, his opening and showing those sharp canines. 

“You are keen on destroying me. But you can’t. You’re just some berserker,” The Marauder said, his voice coarse and rough, “I’ve heard myths about you. I hardly believe it’s really true,”. 

The Crescent growled, and the grip on his neck got tighter and tighter. He weakly punched his arm, his breathing getting weaker and weaker. Until the Marauder felt a stab on his open chest, and that’s when he let go of the smaller man. In response, the warrior uppercutted the so-called berserker, and the berserker broke one of his horns with a powerful haymaker.

They both kept fighting and fighting and fighting until they couldn’t keep track of time anymore. After a while, the Marauder had his opponent pinned down on the floor. Small hands held by his larger ones. The difference doesn’t bother him, silence passes, and he praises the Crescent by leaning down to his face and saying, “You are a very skilled man, I admire your determination,” 

The Crescents only reply was a large bite on the shoulder. The warrior screamed, standing up in alarm and attempted to stomp the smaller one until he was nothing but a puddle of mush. But he didn’t. The Crescent was already gone, and he felt his shoulder become numb to his senses. So he was real. And to think pinning him down was a good idea. He now felt groggy and nauseous. Coughing out blood, his eyes got more lidded and he didn’t feel very good.

The only thing he could remember was falling face first into the floor.


End file.
